Procrastination is still for losers*

Tag Archives: Costa Coffee

According to an unconfirmed tweet from someone I don’t follow never mind know, its International Happiness Day. I’m going to take the tweet as gospel and run with it for the sake of a blog post. Forgive me?

Things that make me happy; Watching people trip up in the street, seeing my daughter’s laughing and messing about, Justin Timberlake‘s tune Suit & Tie and the video, new bed linen, dressing up (steady), winning races (even if my opponent is only 7) finishing a really good book, laughing so much I can’t speak, spending any amount of time with my gorgeous little sister and ripping into J-Lo and her hoops. It also makes me blissfully happy when Geordie even attempts to do a load of laundry, just once in a while so don’t I feel like it’s my sole purpose in life. Reading Vogue cover to cover while sipping a gingerbread latte in a quiet Costa makes me happy too. See I’m quite easily pleased aren’t I?

I’m a bit of an admin nerd and I love organising things, my weekly shopping list is on a spreadsheet, our kitchen calendar is a Where’s Wally? family grid type with dates and appointments clearly colour-coded and I don’t care who knows it….this makes me happy!

Whatever it is that makes you happy, do it today, as much as possible. Go on, get on with it. Now where did I put my highlighters?

In all my time blogging (all 11 months of it) I’ve never been so excited to sit down and type because…………I can SIT DOWN and type! I have a brand spanking new computer, a dusty but sturdy new chair (thanks dad) and the icing on the cake is that I’m one battered spinal disc short of a full set! Never has the saying ‘I’m not a complete idiot…..parts of me are missing’ been so true! As I have a note pad bursting with new, interesting and obscure blog ideas I thought it best to have a bit of a round-up and put the last few weeks to bed.

I’m going to start by highly recommending the Neuro wing at Newcastle’s RVI hospital as the staff there, from the tea lady to the neurosurgeon himself were all absolutely amazing and in the short 48 hours I was there, each one worked their ass off during their long shifts. The RVI itself does not look much like a hospital in parts, the two Costa Coffee shops and cinema kind of threw me when I first arrived, plus being nil by mouth for 24 hours prior to the op and being taunted by the smell of gingerbread lattes up on the fifth floor was hard going. Although I was to find this was just a small test in the grand scheme of things, sharing a ward with Lilly from South Shields was the real challenge. Lilly god bless her is an amazing character, her raw geordie accent can often be heard down the corridors and she is not one for holding back her opinion ‘worst hospital in the reegion this ya knaw’ (apologies at my attempt to pull of her accent in type) Lilly likes to get up in the night to go for a wonder, she always pees with the ward toilet door open and sometimes gets into the wrong bed, all the while narrating what she’s doing in her sing-song accent. At lunchtime on Saturday Lilly was offered cheese and crackers after all hell had broken loose because the catering staff had gotten her lunch order mixed up. Luckily Lilly likes cheese and crackers and she set to work opening the packets on her little bed tray, there was relative silence as we each tucked into our culinary delights when a piercing shrill rang out ‘Eeeeeee where’s me cheese gone?’

For the next 23 minutes (yes I timed it because it was like an episode of Benny Hill) Lilly asked every member of staff who stepped foot in the room to try to find some cheese, until literally everyone on shift was phoning down to the kitchens or nipping to ward 16 for a spare triangle of cheese, it was pure comedy. Lilly was eventually satisfied with four extra mini tubs of Flora instead, she sat up in bed and declared ‘I love butter me, not keen on cheese mind’ It’s moments like this that make me so glad for the people who work for the NHS who are genuinely caring and compassionate, without them I do wonder what kind of life our old and infirm would suffer.

Post op I stayed with my folks for five or six days and they had a whale of a time caring for my 16 month old daughter as I was unable to even pick her up. My Dad is now a huge fan of In The Night Garden and does not care for Rastamouse one bit……….. fool he doesn’t know what he’s missing!

Like this:

I’ve been thinking about writing an article about my other half for a while and its only the worry of publicly mocking his dress sense that has stopped me. I realised that he gets far more stick on Facebook from his work mates than I could ever inflict on him using fancy words, so here it goes.

The first time I met my bloke he was wearing Gap jeans, a Haynes ManualFord Cortina t-shirt and Fred Perry pumps, all fairly casual, standard items for a 29-year-old guy. I knew he had potential to pull off a range of looks, he’s tall, broad-shouldered and stuck in the 90’s so there was definitely room for improvement. It’s only fair to detail what I was wearing at our first meeting too, Gap Pinstripe Shell top, River Island cropped jeans and Irregular Choice shoes. I could have been more conservative but you only get once chance at a first impression and I thought I’d make a statement, you can probably tell that we’re complete opposites already?

The natural progression for fashion-shy boy meets switched-on girl is that she moulds him into a socially acceptable dresser and broadens his fashion horizons by introducing smart casual garments into his collection of footy shirts and jeans. Also you’d expect that someone with a passion for all things trendy would be in her element starting out with a fresh canvas, however my husband is rather stubborn and the last three years have been something of a battle. If you stopped him in the street and asked him ‘Who’ he was wearing I’m pretty sure he would think you were a pervert.

My bloke likes to wear what he calls ‘manly’ clothes. He’s not into knitwear, suit jackets (when not wearing a suit) or shoes that are anything other than Timberland boots, Onitsuka Tiger Trainers or Dune brogues. Not a bad start really as I’ve never been attracted to guys who take longer than me to get ready for a date. But when sportswear is the ONLY option he resembles a P.E teacher rather than sexy jock. Same goes for trousers really, Gap jeans or combats have been his only casual wear until we reluctantly tiptoed into Next and purchased a pair of sand colour chino’s that definitely didn’t make him look like a JLS wannabe. Clothes shopping with him is like dragging Horrid Henry around Debenhams, you know it’s going to end with someone being in a huff and a Costa Coffee to clear the air.

We were on a roll, a couple of plain white versatile t’s followed, and god forbid, a pair of navy blue espadrilles that he’s had to wear around the house a few times to get used to. Now that I have endured half a dozen of these courageous shopping trips I think I have nailed the approach and can get him to wear a plethora of more stylish items, it’s all about confidence. It’s not really about copying the mannequin in the Zara store window, or forwarding him the trend report emails from ASOS menswear as a hint, it’s simply about making him feel confident in the clothes he wears….. Albeit in slightly more interesting ensembles than a 1997 football hooligan.

What’s so infuriating about this whole situation is that he looks good in everything, I’m not just saying that. I’m very lucky to have a good-looking guy for a husband and I’m well aware of that, but its kind of taken the fun out of watching the metamorphosis from a 1990’s country bumpkin into an on-trend, passionate dresser. I’ve accepted the fact that it’s going to be a long process and that I should carry on bin bagging the washed out and misshapen Superdry t-shirts when he’s at work and replace them with Zara fine knit jumpers. Hope he doesn’t read this!